


I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks

by RobinsonsWereHere



Series: I Think We Could Do It If We Tried [2]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Closeted Character, Eating Disorders, F/F, Fainting, Feels, Found Family, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Misplaced Guilt, More Characters/Relationships to be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Episode: s09e08 Episode 8, Team as Family, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, this might make you cry, val whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: In the weeks after Elsie's death, Valerie isn't doing well. Trixie and the others are all trying to help her, to give her the support she needs, but all she does is push them away.But after a month of pushing herself so hard that she's got nothing left, she finds she's going to need her friends after all.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Valerie Dyer, Lucille Anderson & Phyllis Crane, Trixie Franklin & Julienne, Trixie Franklin & Phyllis Crane, Valerie Dyer & Elsie Dyer, Valerie Dyer/Trixie Franklin
Series: I Think We Could Do It If We Tried [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980610
Comments: 19
Kudos: 15
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. I Tried To Get It Off My Mind

“It’s a girl!”

The heavy exhaustion that normally blankets Valerie these days is briefly lifted as she cradles the slippery, screaming newborn in her arms. The mother-- an old school friend of hers, Evelyn-- laughs giddily, and Shelagh, already handing Val the necessary tools, cheers. Valerie smiles down at the infant. “Hello,” she coos, clamping the cord. “You’re a big one, aren’t you? No wonder you gave your mum such trouble.” With the cord cut, she takes the warm towel from Shelagh, wraps the little girl in it, and stands.

And that’s where the problem begins.

Her vision goes a bit spotty, and when it blurs further toward television, she blinks hard a few times. All that gets her is a ringing in her ears.

“Bloody hell,” she mutters. _Maybe going a week without more than a few hours of sleep isn’t the best choice._ “You should hold the baby,” she mumbles, handing the infant to Shelagh.

Almost immediately after that, the world goes utterly and fully black.

\---

Ordinarily, two midwives being present for the third delivery of a mother without complications would be overkill, especially in the maternity home. But looking from her patient on the bed to the baby in her arms and, of course, Valerie unconscious on the floor, Shelagh fervently wishes for another set of hands.

“Oh, dear,” she mutters, not at all happy with how the situation is sizing up. _Mother and baby first._ Still, she quickly opens the door and sticks her head out. “Patrick! I could use some help in here!”

With that, she quickly turns her attention back to Mrs. McGuire and her baby. “You’ve got a healthy little girl Evelyn,” she promises, handing the baby over. “Well, not so little-- I haven’t weighed her yet, but I’d guess she’s almost five kilos!”

“Aw, look at her.” Evelyn beams at the child, but Shelagh can’t spare much time to admire the baby herself, hurrying back to Valerie’s side. Her friend still hasn’t moved much, and Shelagh winces as she feels for a pulse. With a baby in her arms, she couldn’t exactly catch her fall… if Valerie has any sort of head injury, it’s practically her fault.

The door bursts open and Patrick appears, white coat billowing. “Shelagh! What’s happened?” His brow furrows with confusion at the healthy mother and baby, but his eyes widen when he looks down at them on the floor. “Oh, heavens.”

“Her pulse is high, and she feels feverish,” Shelagh reports. “She delivered baby McGuire without issue, but when she stood up, she swayed a bit, asked me to hold the baby, and then fainted.”

Patrick looks from them to the baby. “Mother and baby are fine?”

“Absolutely,” Shelagh confirms.

He nods. “I’ll telephone for an ambulance. You stay with her.” He’s out the door as quickly as he’d come.

\---

Lucille has just finished checking in with the five mothers currently in the maternity home, and is heading to file the charts, where she finds Dr. Turner on the phone. 

“She has not recovered from the faint and is still unconscious, to my knowledge.” He huffs impatiently at whoever’s on the other end of the line. “I’m not in the room with her-- _yes,_ someone is! There’s a trained nurse with her now.” He waits another moment. “There’s a possibility of head injury but no clear indication. Until now we assumed she was in good condition.” Another pause. “Thank you.”

Lucille looks up from the filing cabinet at the click of the phone in the cradle. “Is something wrong? I heard a baby crying; I assumed Mrs. McGuire’s delivery went well.”

“It did,” Patrick agrees, “until Nurse Dyer passed out.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “What? What happened?”

“Shelagh was the only one there when it happened; she says she simply fainted. Have you noticed anything off about her recently? Has she been ill?”

Lucille almost laughs, but it’s not really a funny matter. “Valerie has been ‘off’ since her grandmother passed, poor thing. She won’t discuss it with any of us; I don’t even think she’s talking much to Trixie.” She winces-- she shouldn’t have said that last bit-- but Dr. Turner is already moving on.

“Oh, speaking of that-- should you call Nonnatus?”

Lucille nods. “I’ll do that.” She looks up at him as she dials the phone. “Will you or Nurse Turner go with her in the ambulance?”

“Shelagh, I think, since she was there when it happened,” Dr. Turner answers. “I’ll be needed here, still, and I’d appreciate you staying, if you don’t mind.”

“As long as someone is with her,” Lucille agrees. In the next moment, Sister Frances’ voice comes over the phone. 

_”Nonnatus House, midwife speaking!”_

“Sister Frances, it’s Lucille,” Lucille says quickly. “I’m working at the maternity home with Valerie today, and shortly after she delivered the McGuire baby, she fainted dead away.” Worry twists her heart. “I wasn’t there at the time and I haven’t seen her, but Nurse Turner is with her and Dr. Turner has phoned for an ambulance. I thought Sister Julienne should be notified, and--” she cuts herself off before speaking Trixie’s name. “...and everyone else.”

_”Of course!”_ Sister Frances’s anxiety is audible even over the phone. _”Poor dear, I know she hasn’t been doing well. You’ll keep us updated, won’t you?”_

“I’ll be staying at the surgery until dinner, but I’m sure Nurse Turner will make sure everyone who needs to know does,” Lucille promises. 

_”Oh, right. I’ll go tell Sister Julienne now.”_ There’s a sound as if the young nun has almost dropped the phone. _”Goodbye, and good luck!”_

“Thank you,” Lucille says, but the phone has already been hung up. Even after she hangs up her own handset, she stays motionless, staring down the hall.

_What’s happened, Valerie? What have you done?_

\---

Trixie is already rather windblown as she comes in from her first delivery of the day, but the chill in the December air only encourages her to move faster. The call board has already been updated-- that’s good-- but her bag is in need of replenishment and reorganization. She hurries through the hall and, as a result, nearly crashes into Sister Julienne and Sister Frances.

“Sorry sisters,” she apologizes, but they hardly seem to notice her. 

“Nurse Anderson said Nurse Turner would keep us updated, but the ambulance hadn’t even arrived when she called,” Sister Frances is saying. 

“Was there any information on her condition at the time?”

“If there was, Lucille didn’t know.”

Due to a combination of curiosity and an overly congested hallway, Trixie slows to listen to their conversation. “What’s going on?” Her brow creases. “Is something amiss at the maternity home?”

Sister Frances turns to look at her with wide eyes. “Nurse Dyer fainted just after delivering Mrs. McGuire’s baby. When I heard from Nurse Anderson, they were waiting on the ambulance.”

Trixie feels like all the air has been knocked out of her. Though she was rushing before, now she goes utterly still. Her grip on her nurse’s bag is white-knuckled. Though her lips move as if to speak, in her mind she’s stuck in a loop of the past few weeks.

_Valerie walking home, sweaterless even in the November chill. A melting 99 cent cone in her hand and a numb look on her face._

_Holding Valerie close, wrapped up in bed, waiting for her to cry or at least fall asleep. Neither had happened._

_Valerie jumping to answer the phone when she wasn’t on call, after her whole day had been busy._

_Food pushed around a plate. Bed empty at midnight and sheets cold at dawn. Worried pleas that hadn’t made a dent._

“Nurse Franklin.” Sister Julienne steps forward, taking Trixie’s arm in a supportive and calming gesture. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course,” she says, with what little breath she has. She manages a nod to go with it, but neither nun looks convinced. “St. Cuthbert’s or The London?”

“It would be St. Cuthbert’s, I believe,” Sister Frances answers hesitantly. “Maybe you should sit down, Trixie, you look a bit pale…”

“I’m fine,” she says, with a tight smile. “Sister Julienne, is Phyllis about? I might trouble her to drive me…”

“She’s with a patient, I believe,” Sister Julienne says with a frown, “and I’m tempted to agree with Sister Frances. Perhaps you should have a cup of tea before you set off on your bicycle.”

Trixie presses her lips together, trying to steady her breathing. “I really think I should go to St. Cuthbert’s…”

“Who’s going to St. Cuthbert’s?” Sister Hilda appears with a look of concern on her face.

“I am,” Trixie says stubbornly. “Well, Valerie is. And I’m not leaving her alone there for a moment longer than I have to. _Clearly_ we haven’t been paying enough attention as it is!”

“Oh dear,” Sister Hilda murmurs, which feels like a bit of an understatement.

“Nurse Franklin, please,” Sister Julienne says.

“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Trixie tells them. “But right now, I’m going to see Valerie.”


	2. I Will Keep On Waiting For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie reaches St. Cuthbert's, but keeping her emotions reined in in public takes a toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! There's no real posting schedule for this fic other than that I don't post more than once a day and I try to post as soon as I have a chapter finished. Thanks for reading and enjoy the feels!

Shelagh thumbs through a magazine, but she can’t find it in her to absorb its contents. There’s nothing particularly interesting in sitting in a hospital room next to an unconscious, motionless form, but she can draw her attention away from Valerie.

The younger nurse is ashen, her chest rising and falling only shallowly. Shelagh can’t resist laying a hand on her forehead once more, and she frowns at the still-present heat. Has Valerie been ill? She’s seen her often in the maternity home, with a smile on her face but something broken in her eyes. It’s not uncommon for grief to transition to something more, when a person is so tired of the world that they barely have the strength to keep living in it…

When the door bangs open Shelagh startles, pulled suddenly from her thoughts. Nurse Franklin appears in a whirl of grey cloak and blonde hair, an indecipherable look in her eyes. The only color in her cheeks is courtesy of her makeup.

“Nurse Franklin!” Shelagh doesn’t have time for any real greeting before Trixie is speaking over her.

“How is she?” She hurries to her friend’s bedside. “Any change? What exactly happened? Tell me everything.”

Shelagh quickly recognizes the near-panic under the guise of professional diagnosis. “Mrs. McGuire had a quick labor with baby number three, a little girl. Nurse Dyer was absolutely fine during the labor and assisted with the delivery easily. She handled baby just as she usually does, but when she stood up she muttered something under her breath and handed the baby to me… then she fainted.” Shelagh wrings her hands. “I couldn’t catch her on her way down, not with the baby in my arms. The doctors haven’t discovered any major head traumas, but they suspect a concussion, which they’ll check for when she wakes up.”

Trixie nods, not even looking at her. She takes Valerie’s hand, staring at her closed eyes with something deep flickering in her own. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice quiet. It’s such a departure from her usual bright, authoritative manner that Shelagh almost feels like she’s seeing something she shouldn’t. 

“Would you… like me to give you a minute?”

“Yes, please.” The flash of a smile Trixie gives her hardly lasts for a second. Shelagh hesitates, wracking her mind for words of comfort, but there’s nothing she can say.

She settles for giving Trixie a smile of her own before ducking out the door.

\---

Trixie settles herself carefully in the chair next to Valerie that Shalgh has just vacated. She moves slowly, every motion purposeful. Maybe if she focuses on every little action she’ll be able to keep from falling apart completely.

“Oh, Valerie,” she whispers, when she’s settled and holding her girlfriend’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve seen. I should’ve helped you.”

There’s not a doubt in her mind that she’s at least somewhat to blame for Valerie’s collapse, for… whatever else they don’t know about yet. She’s seen her fading for weeks, ever since Elsie’s death. Surely there’s something she could’ve doon, to prevent things getting this far…

Hot tears rise in her eyes and she looks up to the ceiling, blinking fast as she tries not to cry. The grainy ceiling tile blurs and is replaced by memories as Trixie combs back through the last few weeks. Nights when she’d tried to wait up, worried about Val, but fallen asleep without knowing if Valerie had slept at all. Hushed conversations with Phyllis about how many patients Valerie was seeing, how many more emergency calls she was jumping to answer. Even a few pleas to Sister Julienne because _surely_ the workload Valerie was taking on couldn’t be good.

They hadn’t been able to do anything, and honestly, Trixie has only herself to blame. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Valerie’s sleeping form. She reaches out to run her fingers through messy brown hair. “I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve…”

_Talked to you. Tried more to check in. Been there for you even more, enough to actually help._

“I’m so sorry,” Trixie says again. And then she leans down, pressing her lips gently to Valerie’s warm cheek, though she shouldn’t. Any number of people might come through the door for any reason at any moment, but she can’t stop herself from that one small gesture. It feels pathetic, honestly. A fully trained nurse and midwife, and all she can do for the woman she loves is a small, secret kiss.

\---

Phyllis drives by the surgery after her own calls to pick up Nurse Anderson. “I thought you might appreciate not having to bike all the way to St. Cuthbert’s,” she says.

Lucille gives her a grateful smile. “Have you seen her yet? I haven’t heard anything, and I saw her before the ambulance got here…” a clear shiver runs through the younger nurse.

“I’ve heard she’s in stable condition, and Nurse Franklin is with her,” Phyllis answers. She knows the significance of that, and to her knowledge, Nurse Anderson does, too. But if they both know, it makes discussion redundant.

Lucille sighs. “I just keep thinking that there must have been something we missed, something we could’ve done. We’re her friends! We all knew she was hurting, but we couldn’t help her.”

Phyllis nods, a similar guilt gnawing at her. “She shouldn’t have been working so hard… I certainly could’ve helped with that-- Nurse Franklin as much as asked me to-- but I didn’t think it was my place.” She shakes her head. “I thought Valerie would pull through, make it out the other side of this… I thought she knew we were there to support her. I should’ve known.”

Next to her, Lucille nods. “A grieving mind is a hard place to escape.”

\---

Valerie is so, so tired.

That’s all she can think or feel at first. She doesn’t even want to open her eyes. And her head is pounding, and she’s so cold that she’s shivering.

Has she gotten sick?

Valerie rouses herself mostly for the purpose of determining where she is and what’s going on. Unfamiliar, confusing surroundings make her blink and try to sit up. Her arms don’t hold her.

She cries out as she falls back into the bed-- this mattress is bloody _thin--_ and almost at once someone appears. With the headache and the exhaustion, it takes her a moment to identify the person as Trixie. When she does, she smiles a bit.

“Trix.” She coughs as the name leaves her dry throat.

“Hi, sweetie,” Trixie says, her voice soft and gentle. She’s smiling as she takes Valerie’s hand, but it almost looks like she’s been crying. Again, Valerie tries in vain to figure out where she is and what’s going on, but before she can form a question, Trixie is holding a cup to her lips. “Drink some of this.”

Valerie sips the water, but even as Trixie comes closer, still speaking, the world begins to dim again. Why is she this tired? She’s been going weeks without much sleep, and it’s never felt like this.

“Trix,” she mumbles again. “‘M tired.”

“Then go back to sleep, my love,” Trixie whispers. She smiles a bit more and squeezes Valerie’s hand.

Her voice is what allows Valerie to give in. She still can’t make heads or tails of where she is, but if Trixie is comfortable enough to say she loves her, they must be somewhere safe.

Valerie tries to smile herself as she watches her girlfriend through her drooping eyelids. “I love you,” she mutters.

“I love you, too,” Trixie whispers. Valerie feels her squeeze her hand as she succumbs to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Valerie _actually_ wakes up... will we find out more about what pushed her to the point of fainting?


	3. We're Just Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerie wakes up. Trixie spends more time at the hospital than at Nonnatus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets heavy, especially at the end. You know the saying, it has to get worse before it gets better. Well, this is the worse.

Trixie jumps awake at the feeling of a light touch to her shoulder. It had been a restless nap, but enough to leave her well and truly disoriented, her heart racing as she tries to see what’s woken her. Her gaze lands on Phyllis, standing just to her right, and she sighs, clasping a hand to her chest.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, lass,” Phyllis says. “I just thought you might want somewhere more comfortable to rest your head. Not to mention, we’ve a warm plate of dinner for you back at Nonnatus.”

Stretching out a kink in her neck, Trixie looks around the room, realizing Lucille is here now, too. Her friend gives her an understanding smile as Trixie stifles a yawn. “When did-- when did you two get here?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” Lucille answers. “We talked to some doctors first. Didn’t want to disturb you until we had to.”

Trixie stands and stretches some more, looking down at Valerie’s sleeping form. With Lucille and Phyllis, at least, she feels comfortable enough to stroke her fingers over her girlfriend’s soft cheek. Her lips pull into a frown. “I don’t want to leave her,” she says.

“None of us do, Lass,” Phyllis says, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Lucille comes around the bed and takes Trixie’s cloak from where she’s draped it over her chair. “Still, we should get home. She’s in a hospital; she won’t be alone.”

Still reluctant, Trixie hesitates to don her cloak. As she takes it from Lucille, she gets a whiff of woodsmoke and the smog from the docks, and it gives her an idea.

“Hold on,” she says to Phyllis and Lucille, dropping her cloak back in the chair. She quickly tugs off her sweater and lays it over Valerie, tucking it over her shoulders. “It’ll be familiar,” she whispers. The fact that her friends are well aware of her relationship with Valerie doesn’t make it much easier to meet their eyes.

She pulls her cloak on over her uniform. Phyllis and Lucille wrap their arms over her shoulders.

If she has nothing else, Trixie at least has the reassurance that her friends are there for her.

But how had they failed to give that reassurance to Val?

\---

Trixie does manage to sleep, but she still struggles to pull herself from the bed in the morning. Though it’s been weeks since she woke up with Valerie by her side, this morning she feels the loss more acutely than she has in a while. 

She stays silent through breakfast, and most everyone else does, too. Sister Monica Joan quotes some bible passage on family and strength, and Sister Julienne prays for Valerie during grace. There’s no new information in the twelve hours since dinner, but it seems odd and wrong to talk about anything else. So silence reigns.

“Nurse Franklin,” Sister Julienne says, as Trixie is organizing her delivery bag, “you understand I cannot give you leave from your duties today. I am sorry, truly. But even if there wasn’t the matter of appearances, we do need you here.”

Phyllis nods, backing Sister Julienne up. “Every year winter comes, and every year people are unprepared. Chimneys haven’t been dusted! Children have outgrown their warm clothes! We all know the early weeks are chaos.”

“Of course,” Trixie says, managing a smile. “I haven’t been harboring any illusions of rest, I assure you. I have Mrs. Thompson’s twins to see to this morning, I believe.”

Phyllis nods in confirmation, and begins passing out the rest of the assignments. Discussion turns to business, especially since Valerie’s patients are being redistributed, too. Trixie lets herself heave a sigh of relief.

Valerie isn’t the only one who can fool others into thinking she’s alright.

\---

When Trixie visits on her lunch break, she’s relieved and excited to see Valerie sitting up in bed. She’s still got a pallor of illness to her skin, but her familiar lopsided smile warms Trixie’s heart.

Even so, she can tell the expression is a bit forced.

“Valerie,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else to say.

Valerie reaches out for her hand. “Hey, Trix.”

Despite hours of cycling, Trixie isn’t ready to sit down. She fusses over her girlfriend for a bit, checking her pulse-- steadier than it had been-- and laying a hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. At this, Valerie pulls away. “Your hands are cold! And I’m not sick, I promise.” She takes the hand in question and gives it a quick, discreet kiss.

“You’re certainly acting like your normal, cheeky self,” Trixie says. She feigns sternness, setting her hands on her hips and giving Valerie a look, but soon cracks a smile. “I’m glad you’re awake. Fully, I mean.” She wants to reach for Valerie’s hand, but knows she shouldn’t. Instead, she fingers the sleeve of her abandoned sweater, now spread over the pillows Valerie is lying on. “I see you got my present.” 

Valerie’s smile fades a bit. “Yeah.” This time the upward quirk of her lips is most definitely fake. “I’ll be keeping it, you know. They took mine when they brought me in here.”

“I’m sure Sister Julienne will get it back,” Trixie soothes, but the next few moments still pass in heavy silence. “Valerie,” she asks quietly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Valerie laughs, and Trixie raises an eyebrow. “I just. I know I’ve told you this, but I- -I gave mine to my gran, you know. That last afternoon. And it smelled like her for a while.” She looks down at her hands, plucking at the sheets.

Trixie’s heart sinks. There’s no way this whole mess isn’t at least partially related to Elsie’s passing, and now she’s bloody reminded her of it. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s--” Valerie smiles weakly. “It’s fine, Trixie, really. I appreciate the gesture.”

It’s clearly _not_ fine; there’s so much here that they aren’t discussing. But dozens of questions die in Trixie’s throat, strangled by fear and confusion. Before she can say a word, there’s a polite knock at the door, and a doctor comes in, followed by two nurses.

“Afternoon, Miss Dyer,” he says.

Valerie barely looks at him. “Afternoon.”

Trixie clears her throat. The doctor gives her a skeptical look. “Yes, Miss…?”

“It’s Nurse,” Trixie corrects, “Nurse Franklin. And your patient is a nurse, too.” She smiles sweetly.

He looks disgruntled and a shade confused. “My apologies,” he mutters. _”Nurse_ Dyer, I’m glad to see you nicely conscious. If you don’t mind,” I’m going to perform a concussion check.”

By which he means one of the nurses with him will perform the check. 

Valerie is only mildly concussed, and her stay in the hospital, likely to be a few days anyway, will be more plenty of rest time. _Small miracles,_ Trixie thinks, but she sighs slightly with relief.

“You got lucky, Nurse Dyer,” the doctor says. “Seems like you weren’t hurt much by the fall. However, we would like to know more about why you may have fainted in the first place…”

Trixie would like to know that, too. She straightens, her attention focused entirely on Valerie. Her girlfriend is still looking down at her hands, fidgeting idly with the blankets. She hums noncommittally in response to the doctor.

“Have you been eating and drinking regularly?”

“I stay hydrated,” Val mutters. “Who doesn’t love a cup of tea.” The words seem like her, but the tone is flat and numb.

The doctor hums. “And eating? When was the last time you had a full meal?”

“Define ‘full’,” Valerie snarks.

“Sitting at a table, with a main course and a side, protein, grains, something to drink, et cetera.”

“Oh.” Valerie stays silent for a bit. “November, I reckon. Maybe late October.”

At this, Trixie has to stop listening-- the ringing in her ears grows far too loud.

Because it’s _December_ now. Which means Valerie hasn’t had a full meal in a _month._ And she hadn’t even noticed.

Even now, her mind is racing, searching for some evidence to refute Valerie’s statement. A slice of cake from Sister Monica Joan, half-eaten. Dinners barely touched that she’d left early. Trixie can’t remember the last time she and Valerie had eaten breakfast together.

“We used to have to go without all the time, when I was little,” Valerie says. She sounds so blase. Trixie feels like she can’t breathe.

“And have you been having issues sleeping?” The doctor’s expression has darkened, but he continues to ask questions in a plain, professional tone.

“I can’t, really. Not for more than a few hours. And those aren’t pleasant, so I avoid it most nights.”

The doctor has something to say to that, too. Trixie ignores him, staring at Valerie with a sensation like tunnel vision. Days without sleeping. Weeks without a full meal. Every one of them there for her, but blind to her troubles.

She tastes bile in her throat. Her fingers clench the fabric of her skirt. And then Valerie looks up at her, blue eyes meeting blue. There’s clearly pain in that numb expression, suffering pushed beneath selflessness.

_I’m sorry,_ Trixie wants to say. _I’ve failed you. I should’ve noticed._

But her heart is racing and her head is spinning and even if she could physically speak, the room is far too crowded to say what needs to be said.

The air in the room is unbreathable. Revelations and realizations choke her with guilt and regret.

Trixie looks away, closes her eyes. But she can’t do it, she can’t sit here and listen to all the ways Valerie has been crumbling. Not when she could’ve-- _should’ve--_ prevented it.

She stands abruptly from the chair, pushes past the doctor and nurses, and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter-- the others remind Trixie she's not alone in caring for Val.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, or find me on tumblr at bijulesspookyohara !


End file.
